Night Work by Steve Hamilton Page A

a quick look around the living room without being too obvious about it. The last time I was here I had seen aroach clip sitting in one of the ashtrays. If it’s in the living room, that usually means it belongs to Mom or Dad. If the kid’s on probation, in a real way the whole family is, too.
    Of course, here there was only one parent to deal with, at least for the time being. “Have you heard from your husband?”
    “He called yesterday.”
    He was an Army Reserve, currently driving a truck somewhere in Afghanistan.
    “Is everything okay? You seem kind of down.”
    She shrugged. “He’s been gone a long time. It’s hard.”
    “I imagine.”
    She gave me a look as if she might argue with me. Like there was no way I
could
imagine. Of course, I had my own story, but I’d never use it that way.
    “Do you know where Wayne is? Is he going to be back anytime soon?”
    “He went out with one of his friends,” she said. “To the diner, I think.”
    “He didn’t say anything about the appointment?”
    “I think he said something about his hand hurting.”
    “Meaning what?” I said. “He can’t come see me?”
    “I mean he couldn’t box Friday, on account of his hand.”
    “He never has to. We can just talk. He knows that.”
    “He said he’d try to catch you this weekend. He promised me.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure he did.”
    This was the kid’s MO. Seventeen years old and already an expert at it. He seemed to know exactly how far he could go without me having to ring him up. There was always an excuse for everything. His mother didn’t wake him up in time. He didn’t have a ride. He tried to call me but something was wrong with his phone. I knew that when I finally caught up to him, and I
would
catch up to him, he’d have another story for me. He and the friend were looking for work, trying to get an interview, they stopped at the diner to get some food for his mother. The whole melodrama I’d get, with that little smile on his face the whole time, daring me to bust him on it.
    These were the ones who bothered me the most, the kids right on the edge. There was just enough hope for me to think I had an outside chance with them. Not like some of the others, the kids who already seemed on their way into the system no matter what I did.
    Wayne was smart. He was a good athlete. He didn’t do any organized sports at school, but if I ever got him in the gym on a regular schedule …
    I’ve never lost one kid I got hooked into the gym. Not one.
    “Wayne’s trying,” his mother said. “He really is.”
    “Claire, I’ll be honest. I think things could go either way with him.”
    “He hasn’t been hanging around with any of those guys from Newburgh anymore.”
    “That’s good to hear,” I said. Thinking, good to hear if it’s true. “He’ll be out of the house soon. If hegets into serious trouble again, you know he might not get probation next time.”
    “I know that.”
    Whoever had been yelling when I was outside at the door was back at it again. His voice was coming right through the common wall now. Something about who were you with last night and why weren’t you here when I got home. Classic stuff to yell at a woman, but with a tone of voice I knew was serious trouble. I didn’t hear anybody answering him.
    “Your neighbor sounds like a charming gentleman,” I said. “How often do you have to listen to this?”
    “All the time,” she said. “These walls are so thin, it’s like he’s in the room with us. He kept me awake until midnight last night doing that.”
    “That’s great.”
    “My husband wouldn’t have let it go on, believe me. He would have gone over there and taken that guy’s head off.”
    Some more yelling. We both sat there listening to it.
    “That’s his wife he’s yelling at, I take it.”
    “Wife, girlfriend. I don’t know. They don’t talk to us.”
    “You ever hear anything else?”
    “Like what?”
    “Like him hitting her?”
    “I don’t